A Daughter's Story: Primrose Mellark
by PotteringTribute
Summary: Primrose Mellark lives with her parents, Katniss and Peeta, in District 12. She hunts and her family lives a now-peaceful life. But it will be disrupted once Gale Hawthorne and his family come for a visit and Primrose meets Gale's son, Phox. What will happen between Prim and Phox?
1. Chapter 1

A Blossoming Primrose: Katniss's Daughter

Chapter 1

I glance at the sky, a smile forming across my face. I clutch my bow more tightly to my body and continue stalking through the woods, a sly grin decorating my face. My dark hair blows in the wind as I lithely dart through bushes and trees. I've grown up in these woods; they're like a second home to me.

My name is Primrose Mellark. I am the daughter of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, renowned victors of the 74th and 75th Annual Hunger Games.

I am fourteen now, my birthday was just last week. It was September 22nd, to be exact. The day that Autumn, my favorite season, began.

I currently live with my parents and my little brother, Boggs. Our home is in District 12. My parents and I live in their old house in what had been nicknamed the 'Victor's Village', back when the Hunger Games were still in place. Now, Panem is under the rule of President Paylor, who is a good ruler. She stopped the Hunger Games and now all of Panem is safe under her rule.

District 12 is scarcely populated, though. We're some of the few residing here. Many of the old residents now live in District 13, the Capitol, and other Districts. District 12 hasn't really been rebuilt.

I'm a mix of my mother and father. I have my mother's dark hair, but my eyes are blue, like my father's. And I have a fiery personality, just like her. I'm sometimes told I'm a bit like my late Aunt Primrose. Apparently we have the same facial features.

My beautiful wooden bow was crafted in the Capitol. My mother had it specially made for me for my birthday. Ever since I was a child, I've been like her. Living in the woods. Hunting, and bringing home food to my proud mother. My father cooks it and we eat it, but sometimes we give it to others. The Hob, the nickname for the black market where my mother used to sell her meat, hasn't reopened, but it is legal for us to trade in the town Square.

We really don't need the food, anyways. My mother and father are wealthy from their days as young Victors in the Hunger Games, where they were awarded riches from the Capitol.

We don't speak much about the past. My mother refuses to talk about her part in the Rebellion against the Capitol, and my father usually keeps his mouth zipped. But occasionally, I'll wake up hearing my mother screaming, and my father soothing her. I know that she has nightmares.

We learn about it in school. Mother and father make me go to school every day, and learn. Each week, we have a History of Panem lecture about the Dark Days, the Hunger Games, and the Capitol. I've managed to piece together most of my parents' story. I know they won the Hunger Games together twice, and my mother was the face of the Rebellion and was known as the 'Mockingjay', from a pin that she wore in the Arena when she was in the Games.

I smile a little as I glance down at my shirt. I'm wearing a black t-shirt and trousers. My quiver of arrows is slung around my shoulder, my arrows safely in place. My bow seems to come alive in my hands. The woods, where I am truly happy, where I know not of the Capitol or of the previous horrors of our world.

My mother's gold Mockingjay pin shimmers in the sunlight. I wear it pinned to my shirt, shining in the sunlight. It almost appears to come alive in the woods; it seems almost as real as the black-and-white birds that fly through the treetops, singing melodically.

I shake my head; I need to clear my head if I'm to hunt properly. My mother was the one who taught me to hunt, after all, she is the best archer I've ever known. She told me that in order to hunt, each sense must be 110%. My eyes flit around the tree-filled area as I near a clearing.

I step into the meadow. It's got a single, large rock. Tall grasses dance in unison with the gentle breeze, and plump, ripe berries bloom on a nearby bush. This was my mother's rendezvous point with her old best friend. His name was Gale Hawthorne. She refuses to mention him, and whenever news about District 2 comes up on our television set, she abruptly turns it off. I guess it still pains her to think about him.

But I've seen Gale Hawthorne. A handsome man, who is now married and has a son my age. His name is Phox Hawthorne. I always roll my eyes at his stupidly cocky smirk. It makes my fists curl thinking of them. Because, instead of feeling sadness like my mother, I feel anger.

Snapping back to reality, I notice a deer wander by, and aim my arrow. But my wandering thoughts have caused me to get sloppy, and my arrow misses by a millimeter. The deer scampers away, and I'm left with a failure.

"Drat!" I mutter angrily under my breath. My mind is so adventurous, it manages to wander away all the time. I know I need to be more focused, but staying mindset on one thing is my flaw.

Retrieving my arrow and tucking it back into my sheath, I decide to head home. I walk, kicking dirt up with the toe of my boot. I could get home from here with my eyes closed.

Soon, we near the fence. It's a tall, chain-link thing topped with wickedly-sharp barbed-wire. Thankfully, once Paylor came into power, she granted the citizens of our District to cut out an area and make a small gateway entrance for us to enter and exit the forest with. I glance behind me once more and latch the gate, minding to make sure that the gateway is securely shut. Then I head up, through the wreckage of what was once called the Seam, to our home in the Victor's Village.

District 12 only has about two hundred residents at the moment. It's been rebuilt since the bombing back when the Revolution was going on, but much of it was left alone, since many people aren't interested in trying to restore it, and Paylor believes it's a waste of money and time.

I job back home, bow in hand. I open the door to our large home and step inside, kicking off my lace-up boots. My socks slide across the wooden floor and I steady myself to keep from falling.

"Mother! I'm home!"

My mother comes rushing out of the kitchen, a ball of yarn in her hands. Her hair has begun to gray a bit in the front, and her face is weary. She has been through so much in her life. But it's hard for me not to see her as the Mockingjay, as the woman who saved our country. To this day, I can still picture her suited up in her Mockingjay suit, made by a supposed 'friend of hers', with her black bow and sheath of arrows, looking like the fierce fighter she is.

I smile. "Hello, mother. I see you've been knitting?"

She nods once. "I'm in the living room, with Buttercup. I've been knitting a blanket."

Buttercup is our old cat. I'm surprised he's still alive, frankly. But my mother's had him since before I was born. Although she doesn't seem much like a cat person, she accepts and even loves this one. I adore Buttercup, and he loves me too. It seems like an unspoken promise between Buttercup and my mother to protect us. Some nights, Buttercup will curl up next to me as I sleep. Sometimes, he will travel into Boggs's room and sleep on the edge of the bed. Other nights, he'll rest at the foot of my mother's and father's bed, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"Good. I hope it turns out well," I remark, taking my pin off. My mother's eyes fall down to it, and she blinks once and her eyes glaze over for a moment, as if remembering her youth.

"It will," she replies, although her voice sounds faraway, her eyes looking as though they're in another world.

I hug her and let her return to her knitting before bounding upstairs to my little room. It's a simple place, with just a white, cushiony bed and a single dresser that has some things that are special to me. I set my Mockingjay pin down upon it and grin a little before combing my hair out and padding downstairs, where my father is cooking dinner.

My mother and brother are already seated at our heavy mahogany dining table, plates and silverware set out in front of them. My father wears a dirtied apron tied around his waist, with supper in his arms. He sets out a steaming turkey in front of us, one that I shot yesterday in the woods. Next he lays out some still-warm bread, and I break a piece off of a rounded loaf. I shove the bread into my mouth, savoring the warmth its insides contain. I chew it a little, tasting a hint of seaweed. This is District 4 bread.

I look at my father, and says, "Annie Cresta sent us this bread. Her son set up a small bakery of his own and she had these sent to us."

My mother folded her hands in her lap. "Well, we'd better make sure to thank her. That was quite kind of her."

My brother and I nod and the loaves are quickly eaten. Next we move onto the turkey. I pull off a leg and bite into it, the meat sliding down my throat. I'm finished quickly, and I'm about to stand up when my father motions for me to sit down.

A confused look on my face, I plop back down into my seat. My father clears his throat once and says, "I have an announcement to make."

I sink back into my chair. What kind of announcement could he have to make?

"I'd just like to know that Haymitch has invited the Hawthornes to come for a visit to District 12. They will be arriving tomorrow and will be staying in a nearby Victor's Village house."

My eyes widen in surprise and my mother's fork clangs as it clatters onto her plate. She rushes upstairs, leaving the rest of us seated at the dinner table astoundedly.

"I'll go talk to her," my father murmurs. He gets up too, tells us to clear the dinner table, and hurries upstairs after my mother.

I clench my fists as I collect the plates and silverware. The Hawthorne family is coming back. How dare they? They have no right! Mr. Hawthorne knows how badly my mother was hurt. He knows coming back is a risky move. Yet he's coming back anyway.

And he's bringing his family with him.


	2. The Memory Book, Chapter 2

A Blossoming Primrose: Katniss's Daughter

Chapter 2

I clear the table hurriedly with Boggs, quickly putting the silverware and plates in the sink and wrapping up the leftover food for tomorrow. Then I pull on a long-sleeved gray shirt, black fleece-lined leggings, and my mother's old hunting boots. I secure my mother's Mockingjay pin on my shirt, pull on a hunting jacket that my mother passed down to me and sigh as warmth floods through my body.

Then I leave. I nod goodbye to Boggs and slip out the door, into the dark night. It's silent out here now, except for the occasional noise of animals in the woods, or crickets chirping. It's eerily beautiful.

My mother used to have a hiding place. It was in the Meadow, right near the old Seam area of District 12. On a nice day, sometimes we walk there together, and she'll tell me tidbits of her past. If she's in a good mood. She'll stare wistfully at the sky and relay old stories, all happy ones. Like my Aunt Primrose and her sweet goat Lady. Or how Aunt Primrose had brought home Buttercup. And even about the woods.

Tonight I run to her hiding place. It's located underneath a wilting honeysuckle bush. I duck underneath and sit there, holding my legs to my chest, shivering in the cold night. I pull my jacket more tightly around my shoulders and bury my head in my hands.

How can the Hawthornes be coming back?

It's not long until I hear footsteps approaching me. I glance up into my mother's gray Seam eyes. Her long brown hair is tucked into a complicated braid that only her nimble fingers are capable of putting together. Tiny bits of gray are beginning to form at the edges of her strands of hair. I smile a little. My mother wears trousers, boots, and a warm jacket. She looks down at me calmly and motions for me to scoot over. I grin up at her and move over. She crouches down and plops herself next to me, putting her arm around my shoulder.

I stare questioningly into her wise eyes. Why had she come?

She gulps before saying, "Prim, do you know exactly why tensions are strained with the Hawthornes?"

I shake my head. I've never known the exact reason. All I know is that he and my mother were hunting partners once upon a time. They both took part in the Rebellion, and then departed, going their separate ways once the war had ended.

My mother blows out a short breath once before continuing. "Prim… Gale did something that I could never forgive. Or at the time I believed I never could."

I knit my brows in confusion. "What did he do?"

A silent tear slips down my mother's cheek, and I do a double-take. My mother never cries in front of us. Never. "Prim… He killed my sister. Not directly, of course. But my sister Prim, your Aunt Primrose, she was a rebel medic. Bombs disguised as parachutes were sent to a group of Capitol children outside of President Snow's mansion. Half of the parachute bombs went off. The other half didn't. Rebel medics swarmed in. I saw Prim there. I recognized her by the duck-tail shape the back of her blouse made." My mother gives a bitter laugh, as though remembering a once-happy memory that turned painful. "Then the rest of the parachutes went off. They killed Prim, and I was blown back. That's why your father and I have burn marks." She leans her head back. "Gale designed the bombs that killed Prim."

I suck in a breath. "That's terrible! I understand why you hate him."

My mother shakes her head. "No, I don't hate him. I just can't forgive him. I know he didn't mean to, but now, I always associate Prim's death with Gale Hawthorne. And it's something I'll never forget."

Silence falls between us as I process what she's said. Gale killed my Aunt, but Mother doesn't hate him.

Then, my mother sighs and stands up, dusting off her pants. She offers me a hand. "We should go back now. It's getting late, and you should go to bed. Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day."

"Mom," I say softly. She looks over at me. "Can you show me your Memory Book?"

My mother and father have what is called our "Memory Book". Every so often, my parents will add a memory, and Haymitch too. It's filled with photos, objects, and writings. However, neither Boggs nor I have seen it yet. I supposed it was due to the fact that it was so personal.

But I'm growing up now. I'm fourteen now, and they can't keep me clueless forever. I want to know about their past.

My mother thinks about it for a moment. "All right," she relents finally. "We'll look at it once we get home."

I nod and we walk home together. My mother is an outdoors person, she loves being outside. She says it reminds her of her old home, the old District 12. Sometimes, she goes into the woods alone. With her wooden bow and arrows. We're not too sure what she does, and she doesn't often come home with kills. I guess she spends most of her time thinking.

When we reach the house, I change back into my nightgown and pad downstairs. My mother is waiting for me, also in her pajamas.

We go into the living room, where my mother knits and keeps everything precious to her. On the shelves are a pearl, a locket, a moth-bitten parachute with a small spile attached to it, and of course, the Memory Book.

She gently pulls the Memory Book from its shelf. Slowly, carefully, she sits in her rocking chair and I sit on the floor next to her. She cracks open the first page, and a layer of dust falls out of the book. She coughs, and then shows me the front page.

I gasp a little inside. On the front page, is a stunning, radiant woman. She is dressed in a red dress, and she is twirling. A large smile decorates her young face. Fiery flames shoot up from her dress, her hair furling up a bit in the back. Sitting beside her, is a man who must have had hundreds of plastic surgeries. His hair is blue and he wears a sparkling, midnight-colored suit. He laughs and gestures to an unseen crowd.

"Is that you?" I inquire, looking up at my mother's face. She nods.

"That was my first interview, in the Seventy-Fourth annual Hunger Games. The man next to me was the interviewer, Caesar Flickerman was his name. Quite a nice man, it seemed. The man who designed my dress, his name was Cinna. He was a close friend."

"Cinna? Have I met him?" I ask her, my blue eyes widening.

My mother shakes her head sadly. "The Capitol killed him. Beat him to death right in front of my eyes, right before the Seventy-Fifth annual Games were about to begin. I was in the launch tube as he was murdered."

I close my eyes. "That's horrible."

"Yes, it was." My mother's voice is filled with sorrow.

Quickly, she flips to the next page. On it, with some writing next to it, is a young girl who looks no more than thirteen. She has her hair done in two braids. Her facial features resemble mine.

"Aunt Prim?" I guess, examining the happy smile that lights up the girl's face.

My mother laughs. "Yes. That was right after Peeta and I came home. Prim came to greet me, she was so excited. We had a large house, and I was alive. It was a wonderful day." I can see my mother's eyes take on that faraway look they sometimes get.

I smile. "I wish I had known her. She sounds lovely."

"She was," my mother replies, wiping away a small tear.

We examine the rest of the book. I learn more about everyone in my mother's past. Little Rue, so identical to Aunt Prim. Rue, who died with a spear in the stomach. Rue, who my mother sang to death. There's also Cato, Thresh, Clove, Glimmer, Marvel, and Foxface. Other tributes in the 74th.

There's also Claudius Templesmith, the announcer of the Games. Caesar Flickerman, the interviewer. President Snow, the evil mastermind behind the Games. Seneca Crane, the old Head Gamemaker. Lady, Aunt Prim's old goat. How Buttercup and my mother's relationship was. And who can forget Effie Trinket, my mother's old escort?

Next up is Cinna. He sounds wonderful. Brilliant, even. And Octavia, Venia, and Flavius, her prep team. Portia, Peeta's stylist, and Peeta's prep team.

Mags. Finnick Odair. Seeder. Chaff. Cecelia. Brutus. Enobaria. Cashmere and Gloss. Wiress and Beetee. The Morphling addicts. Plutarch. President Coin.

Finally, from the Rebellion. My mother's friend Johanna Mason, who still keeps in touch and even calls every so often.

Boggs, my brother's namesake. Leegs 1 and 2. Castor and Pollux. Homes. Jackson. Cressida. Messalla.

The Avoxes. Lavinia and Darius.

Almost everyone my mother describes is dead.

My mother tells me all about her past. Muttations and her nightmares and my father's hijacking. The Hunger Games from her perspective. Her dead friends, her living friends. She tells me all about them.

When we're finally finished, we go to bed together. Tonight, she sleeps with me in my room, her arms curled around me, protecting me from unseen dangers that lurk in our dreams.

I fall asleep with my dreams intertwining, filled with mutts and tributes and friends and foes alike. But each time, I'm there with Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay. Katniss Everdeen, the mother. Katniss Everdeen, the Hunter. And each time, she protects me and I protect her. We protect each other, just like how my parents protect each other.

And I know that we will both be okay.

**Author's Note:**

**Crying as I write this, there are so many feelings! :'( **

**Please review and tell me what you think, it makes me so happy to get reviews!**

**Next chapter will be the Hawthorne family's arrival!**


	3. Today is the Day, Chapter 3

A Blossoming Primrose: Katniss's Daughter

Chapter 3

I awake to sunlight filtering softly through the small window in my bedroom. I smile a little and sit up, stirring my mother, who had slept next to me.

I gaze down at my mother. In her sleep, she looks so peaceful. Her usually worn-out face is clear as a beautiful morning in the Meadow. Her hair falls gently in rolling waves around her face. She looks beautiful, and when I see her like this, I imagine her as Katniss, the Girl who Was on Fire. The girl who volunteered to save her sister from near-certain death.

Her eyelashes flutter slightly and then open. Her bright gray eyes glance around before she blinks and sits up, looking at me.

"Good morning," she murmurs quietly.

"Morning, mother," I reply, biting my lip.

"Did you have sweet dreams last night?" she asks me, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair from my face.

I decide to lie, for her sake. Wouldn't want to worry her. So I nod and say I dreamed about the forest.

She smiles. "Good."

Her eyebrows furrow, in concern. She must have remembered what today was. "The Hawthornes are coming today," she says, almost to herself.

I nod. "They'll be here soon. Gale, and his wife, and Phox. We'd best get ready."

My mother swallows and gets up, the wooden floors of the house creaking under her weight. I roll over on the bed and stare up at my white ceiling. I wonder what today will turn out to be like.

After a few minutes, I force myself to get out of bed. I walk over to my bathroom and take a quick, refreshening shower.

I pad back into my room and dress in some of my nicer clothes. My outfit today includes a pristine white blouse, a pair of my mother's old hunting breeches and belt, and my hunting boots. I want to get a bit of hunting done before heading off to meet the Hawthornes.

I run a brush through my straight brunette hair and braid it into two identical braids. I step back and look at myself in the mirror. From a distance, you might think I was Aunt Prim, if you didn't see my brown hair. My eyes are just like hers, and I have her facial features. But I have my mother's dark hair.

I see a glint of light on my bedside table and recognize the golden Mockingjay pin. I take it in my hands and turn it over once before pinning it to my shirt. I look in the mirror once more. The pin looks wonderful - it looks like a Mockingjay flying through a safe haven.

I sigh and walk downstairs, where my mother is sitting at the dining table. She clutches a mug of hot chocolate in her hands tightly, although she's afraid it might be stolen from her at any moment. It's easy to see how on edge she is.

Today she wears a dark blue shirt with a lighter colored skirt. Her flats are a pretty, soft color. Her hair is down today, and tucked in careful strands behind her ears.

My father walks by. "Morning, Prim," he greets me. I reply and keep my eyes on him. He walks over to my mother and sits down by her side, muttering comforting words. I guess they work, because I see my mother's grip on her cup relax slightly.

I can see that our family is anxiously awaiting the Hawthornes' arrival. I want nothing to do with this, however. "Dad, can I go hunting for a bit?" I ask my father.

"Be back in less than two hours. The Hawthornes are arriving soon," he replies shortly.

I nod and grab my mother's hunting jacket off of the coatrack. I sling my quiver of whittled arrows across my back, and clutch my wooden bow in my hand. I open the door and sprint out, leaving my worries behind me.

I jog through the meadow and unlatch the gate to the forest. I shut it tightly behind me and walk into the woods, stringing an arrow onto my bow. I hold it facing down and glance around, looking for any sign of prey. I focus my mind onto the hunt, and how succession is everything.

I keep walking through the woods, entirely focused on prey. I see a small white rabbit dash by, and I aim my arrow carefully. I pull it tightly and let it fly. It hits the rabbit directly through the eye, which was how my mother taught me to hunt. She told me that the cleaner the kill, the better price its meat and pelt will fetch.

I quickly snatch up my kill, sliding it through my large hunting belt. I look around and realize where I am.

Ducking underneath tree branches and leaping over tree trunks, I reach the clearing where my mother used to bring me. We'd sit together on a large rock that overlooks all of the forest, and I'd lean on her shoulder as we gazed out at the pure beauty of nature.

Today I sit alone, my arms tucked around my legs, clutching them to my chest. My bow rests aside next to me, an arrow strung on it, just in case. Today it's chillier than usual, and I pull my jacket around my arms more tightly. The breeze ruffles the tall grasses, which sway with the winds.

I loll my head to the side, thinking. Thinking about Gale Hawthorne, and Phox, and Gale's wife. Thinking about everything.

I reach over to a bush thick with plump, ripe berries and pluck one off. I toss it into the air, preparing to catch it in my mouth. It was a game that my mother and I played whenever we came here.

But before I can catch it, the sharp 'snap!' of a twig sends my senses into overload. I roll over and grab my bow, immediately aiming at the path where the clearing ends.

Another twig snaps, and the hairs on the back of my neck stick up in alarm. I can't deny that I am a bit scared right now. I've heard that bears roam this forest, but I've never seen one for myself. I certainly hope that it is not one that I am about to encounter.

I see the low-lying leaves of a tree on the edge of the clearing move a little, and I'm about to let my arrow fly, when the shape emerges into the clearing.

And it's not a bear.

It's Gale Hawthorne himself.

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry for the cliffhanger! I just couldn't resist :D**

**Anyways, I apologize for not updating in forever! I know, I need to update more, but I can never find the time! **

**I'm gonna start the next chapter ASAP, so hopefully it'll be up really soon!**


	4. The Confrontation, Chapter 4

A Blossoming Primrose: Katniss's Daughter

Chapter 4

A million thoughts burst into my mind as Gale Hawthorne moves out of the woods, onto the edge of the clearing.

Gale Hawthorne. Here.

This isn't possible. This can't be real!

I suppose by the look on his face, he's quite surprised to see me here too. His eyes flicker from my face, to my dark hair, to my blue eyes, to the bow that I'm holding in my trembling hands. My fingers seem to have a mind of their own. They steady themselves and aim my arrow for Gale's chest. He goes rigid and glares at me.

"Who are you?"

Gale is the first one to speak. He seems angered by my arrow, positioned directly at his heart. If I let go of it now, he'd drop dead.

I step closer to him, my arrow still aimed for his chest. "I don't believe that's a question that requires my answering," I reply, my voice deadly calm.

Gale's eyes narrow, and I see him clench his fists. His voice rises. "I SAID, who are you?"

A bit of fear weaves its way through my chest, flowing through my veins, making knots all over my body. He's huge, and judging by the muscles in his arms and legs, he'd have no trouble taking down a small girl like me. "My name is Primrose."

His eyes widen and his mouth gapes open. "But.. but that's not possible! You're not Prim! She was killed during the war!"

A small snarl escapes my lips. "Not Primrose Everdeen, you idiot! I'm Primrose Mellark, the daughter of Peeta and Katniss Mellark!" I'm angry now. How dare he? How dare Gale Hawthorne storm in here like he owns it?

Gale's eyes have widened even more, and now his voice drops to a whisper. "I didn't know they had a daughter." His voice cracks a little.

I standd up straighter. "Well, they do. So get over it." I lower my bow and brush past him, moving so quickly that I doubt he even notices until I'm not there.

"Wait! Primrose, wait!" He cries, dashing after me. I glance behind me. He's barreling through the forest, knocking through branches and leaves. My chest constricts even more, and I run even faster. I have the advantage, because I'm younger and fast, but he's got knowledge of these woods too. And for being older than me, he's quite agile.

I hear heavy breathing not too far behind me, and I know he's beginning to close in. So I do the only thing that I dare to do.

I pull my bow in front of me and position my arrow directly for his heart.

He's in front of me in a second, his mouth agape. He stands still for a moment, until I speak.

"Get away from me. You had no right coming here. I hate you. I hate you and your stupid family. You hurt my mother, you killed my aunt!" My voice is rising, and I know I need to stop yelling, but I can't help it. Red-hot rage rushes through my system, pumping courage and anger in my blood.

"Do you know that I've hated you since I was born? Never for a moment of my life have I ever thought that you were a good person, that you weren't an evil monster! You're not even human! You care about yourself, and only yourself!" I scream, tears filling my eyes. "I HATE YOU!"

Then I turn and run. I run and run, never looking behind me. My vision blurs as I approach the gates, and when I latch the door in the fence behind me, I collapse. I run to my hiding spot, the honeysuckle bush, and begin to sob, burying my face in my knees. I clutch my legs to my chest and roll onto the ground, staring at the grass that dances in the wind.

It seems like a long time that I've stayed like that when I hear footsteps approaching. I sit up quickly and dust myself off, thinking it'll be my mother, coming to look for me.

But when a figure ducks underneath the bush, it's not my mother.

It's a boy. He looks to be about my age, probably older. About fifteen, I'd say.

He smiles at me as he sits underneath the honeysuckle bush. I roll my eyes. Great. What can this random guy want?

"Hi," he says. "I heard someone crying, so I came over here to see what was up. And then I saw you."

I wipe at my eyes, furious. He probably thinks I'm some weak girl now. I grab my bow and hold it in my hands, refusing to look up. My quiver lies alongside me, my arrows nearly falling out. I steady them and then look up at the boy, my blue eyes gazing at him with intensity.

He's quite tall for a fifteen-year-old. Probably around 5'11, maybe 6 foot. I'm only around 5'5, so compared to him, I'm tiny.

His eyes are gray, unlike mine. He has Seam eyes, that seem to have flickers of honey-brown in them too.

His dark hair is cut in a neat fashion, like my father's was when he was younger. His facial features are sharp and handsome. He's quite a sight to see.

He's staring back at me, his eyes capturing mine. I can almost see myself through his eyes.

I'm a small fourteen-year-old with dark hair and blue eyes. Nothing special to see here.

Finally, after what seems to be an eternity, I speak. "Hi."

His eyes light up a little and the slightest hint of a grin is tugging at the corners of his lips. "Nice bow," he says, gesturing to the perfect wooden bow in my fingers.

I clutch it protectively. "Thanks," I say slowly. My slender fingers trace the elegant curve of the bow unconsciously.

"Can I see it?" The boy asks. Seeing the suspicious look on my face, he quickly adds, "I promise I'll give it back in a moment."

I relent, and hand over the bow. His hands grasp the bow gently, and he seems to almost cradle it in his palms.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "Do you hunt?"

"No," he shakes his head sadly. "I practice, but I never get to hunt. Why? Do you?"

I nod. "I hunt in the woods."

"I wish I could do that. Maybe some time I'll have you teach me." He winks and I lower my head, trying to hide the blush that's creeping through my cheeks.

He laughs and hands me back my bow. "That's one fine bow you've got there." He looks around and seems to have remembered something important.

"Damn!" He swears under his breath. "I've got somewhere I've got to be."

I bite my lip and nod. "Me too. My mother's expecting me home soon."

He grins. He turns to go to the woods, and I turn to go home, but he whirls around with amazing speed and shouts at me, his eyes dancing with giddiness. "Hey, by the way! I didn't catch your name!"

"Prim," I answer. "Primrose Mellark. Yours?"

His smile has faded a little. "Phox. Phox Hawthorne."

My eyes darken and my jaw drops. Phox Hawthorne! I should have known. His looks, him also being an archer… He's just like his father!

I curl my fist and snatch up my bow and quiver. I begin to run away from him, my boots pounding the ground. "Wait!" I hear Phox call after me, but I don't listen. My short legs fly across the Meadow, heading for home.

I hear footsteps behind me and groan inwardly. Of course he decided to follow me!

"Prim! Wait!" Like his father, Phox is quick. He's taller than me, so two of my bounds match one stride of his. He's muscled and fast. He reaches me in seconds.

"Prim!" He grabs my arm and I whirl around, raising my arm, prepared to hit him. He lets go, seeing my discomfort.

"Prim." His voice lowers and he looks at me. I glare back at him, grasping my bow tightly. "Listen to me. I want you to know that I'm not my father. I'm not someone you have to be afraid of, or hate. I want to get to know you better. Please don't run away from me." His voice is like honey. It's inviting and warm and slows my mind. His eyes blink up at me, his black eyelashes fluttering a little.

I sigh. His eyes trap mine again and I nod. "Sorry," I mutter. "I've got to go." I tear my eyes from his and turn around. I begin walking back to my house when Phox falls into step with me.

"Hey, Prim. How about you take me into the woods with you when you go hunting? I brought my own bow. You can teach me how to shoot real animals and stuff."

I roll my eyes and I'm about to say no when he says, "And don't say no. C'mon, Prim. Have you ever done anything fun in your life? Because you seem kind of immune to it."

"Oh, shut up. I've done fun things before!" I say, trying to think fast. What had I done that was fun?

Phox laughs, and I have to resist the urge to punch his pretty-boy face. "Oh, yeah? Name one thing."

Memories race through my mind, and I try to think of one thing. "Um.. when I went hunting in the woods and got chased around by a lone wild dog?" My statement comes out more like a question.

"No, Mellark. That's not fun. Just dangerous! You've seriously never done anything fun?"

My voice becomes angry. "Maybe I haven't! Why don't you name something fun that you've done, _Hawthorne?_" I snap at him, once again feeling the urge to hit him.

Phox's grin only grows wider. "Just last week back in District 2 I kissed the Mayor's daughter. That was pretty fun," he replies, raising an eyebrow.

That's it. I raise my fist and feel satisfaction as it connects with his jaw.

"You were wrong, Hawthorne," I say, my voice low and angry. "You're just like your father. You're both idiots. You should've never come back." I begin to walk away, and then re-think it, and turn around, raising my bow and stringing an arrow on it. "And if you try to follow me, I'll shoot you."

I turn and run away. I don't stop until I get home. I know Phox hasn't followed me, as I haven't heard his footsteps.

I enter our house, breathing heavily, holding my bow with an arrow still strung, ready to be shot. My mother is knitting, all ready for the dinner that we'll be having later with the Hawthornes' later, when she sees my expression. Her brows knit together in confusion.

"What's wrong, Prim?" she asks me concernedly.

"Nothing," I mutter. I'd rather not traumatize my mother with my experiences in the woods.

"All right," she says, although it's clear that my answer was far from satisfactory. I brush past her and climb the stairs to my room, kicking my boots off as I go.

I go to my room and take off my Mockingjay pin. Then I unbraid my hair and let it hang loose, flowing around my shoulders. I set my bow and quiver aside and go over to my mirror.

I look at myself. I try to see myself from someone else's eyes.

I'm plain. My dark hair is average. My face is nothing special.

I'm just a skinny fourteen-year-old with a talent for archery.

I sigh and flop back onto my bed, landing on something soft. I look down to see what I've landed on, and the sight of it takes my breath away.

It's my mother's Reaping Dress. The dress she wore when Aunt Prim was reaped.

I breathe in and out once before slipping out of my hunting clothes. I stare at the dress and then slide it over my head. The soft, cotton-y fabric sits against my skin and hugs my curves.

I look lovely.

I dig out an old pair of plain flats and put them on. I comb my hair out once more before heading downstairs.

When my father sees me, he sucks in his breath. My mother reacts the same way.

"Wow, Prim," she says softly. "You look beautiful."

I nod and thank her, and walk over to the dining room, where our large mahogany table had our nicest dining ware laid out on the surface.

Out of nowhere, a sharp knock on the door interrupts my thoughts.

"It's the Hawthornes," my father announces as he opens the door for them.

Gale Hawthorne stands there, wearing a white cloth shirt and pants. Phox wears a simple, light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his muscled arms. His pants are a beige color.

They step in. My mother stands behind me, her hand on my shoulder. Her fingers are wound so tightly around my arm that it's cutting off my circulation, and I have to gently unwind her fingers.

"Hello, Katniss," Gale says easily. He looks as though nothing's changed between the two of them.

My mother inclines her head stiffly. She blinks slowly and I can tell that she's trying to pretend that Gale's not there. Boggs stands next to her, looking confused. I doubt he even knows who Gale Hawthorne is.

"So, Gale," my father says after an awkward silence. "Care to introduce us to your wife and son?"

"Oh, yes," Gale responds quickly. "Well, this is Aline, my wife." He gestures to a younger woman standing next to him. She has blonde hair and blue eyes. In a way, she reminds me a bit of my mother's old friend, Madge.

"And my son, Phox." Phox raises his head and looks me in the eye. Refusing to back down, I glare back at him, summoning my most menacing stare.

"Oh, how nice to meet you!" My father cries as he shakes Aline's and Phox's hand. Phox never stops staring at me, and his eyes roam my body, making me feel uncomfortable. Angrily, I tear my gaze from his and yank down on my dress, making sure he sees.

"This is my family," my father says, gesturing to me, my mother, and Boggs. "Obviously you know Katniss and I. These are our children, Primrose and Boggs."

"Yes," Gale says crossly, looking at me pointedly. "I believe I met Primrose earlier. In the woods."

"Did you really?" My mother seems to have come out of her shell, and is now standing in front of me protectively. "And how did that go?"

Gale's eyes shift from me to her. "Well, aside from her threatening to shoot me and telling me how much she hates my family and I, all went well." He smiles a bit at the end, but behind that smile is pure malice.

My mother merely raises her eyebrows. "Well, maybe she thought you deserved it. Maybe you did, Gale."

I expect Gale to get angry, but he laughs. "Oh, Katniss. You never do fail to amuse me," he says, his eyes twinkling.

Fire rages in my mother's irises. Is this what Gale always does? Get my mother angry?

I boldly take a step in front of my mother. "Leave her alone," I say quietly, my fists clenching and unclenching.

Phox steps out in front of his father. "Make him," he says menacingly.

My muscles tense and I'm about to lunge for Phox when my father steps in between us. "Dinner is ready," he says loudly. Great. Now my father is angry and he rarely ever gets angry. But when he does, everyone makes sure to stay out of his way.

Whatever flames that had stirred up between our families seems to dissolve as we sit down for dinner.

All throughout dinner, I am silent. So is Phox. His eyes train themselves on me, and once or twice whenever I twist my neck to look at him, he'll raise his eyebrows, causing me to turn red.

Peeta, of course, chatters on and on. My mother and I are silent, Gale and Aline ask questions and make polite conversation. But the overall dinner is quite awkward.

Finally, when everyone is finished and the table is being cleared, I quietly ask my father if I may go outside. He relents and I scurry into a jacket and pull on my boots. I don't care that I look odd. As a finishing touch and a bit of a dig to the Hawthornes, I fasten my Mockingjay pin onto my black jacket. I grab my bow and slide my quiver over my shoulder. I slide out the door silently and pad my way to the Meadow, where I sit in the grassy field. The tall, yellowed grasses are darkened by the sky, but the silvery moon casts a light sheen upon everything.

I lay down and let my hair fall around my shoulders, fanning out around my head. I gaze up at the sky and try to count the stars. I hold my bow up to my chest and hold my quiver in my fingers. I close my eyes and wish that for once, everything were simple.

I hear a noise behind me and open my eyes. My heartbeat quickens and I force myself to be calm. It was probably a squirrel.

Suddenly, there is a 'plop', and then Phox is laying next to me, his lips curved into a grin. I roll my eyes and say, "Get away from me."

Instead of getting cocky like I supposed he would, he edges closer to me.

I roll my eyes. "Get out of here, Phox. Go back to your parents."

"No," he says matter-of-factly. "I don't feel like it."

"Why do you insist on following me around? Just leave me alone," I growl quietly, still staring at the stars. I'm tired, and I wish I could fall asleep here. (Although wild animals would probably smell my scent and come to eat me.)

Phox twists further away from me. "Sorry."

"Whatever," I mutter. It's not like his apologies mean anything to me. He's probably said the same thing to every girl he's ever met. And they've all fallen for his charm and good looks, I suppose. But I refuse to.

I sigh once and sit up abruptly, realizing that my mother will probably be wondering where I am. I brush myself off, give my dress an extra tug, and straighten my jacket.

Phox sits up too. "Where are you going?" He asks me as I pick up my bow and quiver.

"I need to go home," I reply, backing away from him. The grass crunches under my boots and I turn around and begin to walk away.

"Wait, Prim." I stop but don't turn around. "I'd just like to apologize for today, I guess. For making you angry earlier, and for being rude before dinner. I guess you could say that I'm arrogant."

The earlier memories of today make me angry. I laugh, but it's cold and hard and contains no warmth. "You guess? You're the most self-absorbed, rude, cocky person I've ever met in my life."

Phox blows out a breath. "Well, sorry again." He looks around and runs a hand through his hair. "When can I see you again?"

"Hopefully, you won't," I reply, beginning to run. I hope that Phox won't follow me again and thankfully, he doesn't.

When I get home, I barrel through the front door, not giving anyone time to ask questions. I run upstairs and sit on my bed, kicking off my hunting boots and placing my bow and sheath aside.

I change into a white nightgown and begin to comb through my hair when someone knocks softly on the door. Cautiously, I open it, and it's my mother, standing there in her dinner clothes. "May I come in?" She murmurs.

I nod and she enters and we sit side-by-side on my bed. A long silence passes until my mother speaks.

"So what did you think of dinner?" She asks me quietly.

I just shake my head. I don't want to talk about it.

"Did Phox follow you to the Meadow?" I sigh and nod.

My mother shakes her head a little and actually laughs. "That boy is certainly something."

"He's just like his father," I say angrily.

My mother raises her eyebrow. "Oh, yes. Your confrontation with Gale in the woods. You threatened to shoot him?"

"He tried to follow me!" I respond defensively.

My mother just smiles. "Sounds like something I'd have done when I was younger."

I crack a grin. "You were like me when I was younger?"

"Oh, yes," my mother says. "Full of fire and anger and bravery."

I let the image of my mother, young and powerful, hunting in the woods.

I smile as my mother gets up and kisses my forehead. "Good night. Have sweet dreams," she whispers to me as she turns off the lights and shuts the door behind her.

I lie back and close my eyes, but sleep doesn't come for a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks to everyone who leaves a review! I am so thankful and each review means so much to me!**

**I hope you liked this chapter, it was a little longer than usual.**


	5. The Woods, Chapter 5

A Blossoming Primrose: Katniss's Daughter

**I'd like to take a moment to once again thank everyone who has favorited and reviewed my story. It means SO much to me, and reading each one makes me smile and encourages me to write more. So thanks again! :)**

Chapter 5

_My breath comes in ragged gasps as my legs stumble over each other wildly, trying to get to safety. I risk a glance behind me, and surely enough, the white lion mutts are still following me._

_I have to get away._

_Only a few feet behind me, the other remaining tribute is also running like a madman trying to escape. His floppy hair falls in his eyes, and he desperately brushes it away, holding his knife out and running._

_The mutts are gaining on us. I have little time left, and know I must think of something soon. My eyes dart all over the forest, looking for a means of escape._

_And then I spot it. A tree with hooks and grooves in its bark, perfect for me to grapple onto. Just a few feet away._

_My heart pounding, my hair clings to my sweaty forehead. I throw myself onto the tree and begin to climb, praying that the lion mutts can't reach me. My fingers tremble from exertion as I make my way up the trunk of the tree, finally coming to one of the lower-hanging branches, which I haul myself onto._

_Only then do I dare to look down. And when I do, it's a horrific sight._

_The other tribute is trying to climb too, only with less succession than I had. His huge, bulky frame refuses to cooperate with his mind, and he can't climb, no matter how hard he tries. The lion mutts are almost upon him._

_Unable to tear my eyes away, I watch from a safe distance as the lion mutts finally reach the terrified boy, who had just managed to get a hold onto the tree bark. One of the lions sinks its foamy jaws into the boy's calf, and he makes a sound so gruesome, that just hearing it made me want to throw up. _

_The boy looks at me as he hits the ground, his eyes wide. He appears to almost be pleading with me. His mouth forms the word "Please!" just as his other arm is torn from his body._

_It takes almost five minutes for him to die. I sit there, having to listen to his cries and screams. Having to watch this poor boy suffer._

_His cannon sounds, finally, and the lion mutts disappear. I am safe at last. I have won._

"NO!" I jolt upright in bed, sweat trickling down my back.

"Shhh, shhh, it was just a dream." My mother sits at the edge of my bed, stroking my hair gently. Her touch instantly soothes me, and I slump back into my pillows, relieved. It was just a nightmare.

My mother looks at me again, her gray eyes wide. "Wanna talk about it?" she asks me softly. I nod.

"I…. I was in the Hunger Games. And it was the final two. And there were lion mutts, and I escaped, but… but he didn't!" I burst into sobs and bury my face in my pillow, unable to bear even the thought of that tribute dying.

My mother looks alarmed as I speak. "Listen, shhh. It's okay. It was just a dream. The Capitol is good again, and everything is all right. The Hunger Games are over, and they will never happen again."

Her words wash over me like a wave. The Hunger Games are over.

I breathe out quietly and wipe my eyes. "You're right. It was just a nightmare. Nothing to be afraid of."

A ghost of a smile graces my mother's face. "You're right. It was just a nightmare." She looks out the window and turns back to me. "Look, it's nearly time for breakfast. Why don't you wash your face and then come down and eat? You can go hunting after, perhaps bring back some berries for lunch." She gets up and turns to leave, but before she shuts the door, she says one last thing. "Oh, and it's probably best if you don't mention this to your father. There's no need to frighten him."

I nod a bit dazedly and roll out of bed, slipping out of my nightgown. I open my small closet door and peer inside. Today, nothing stands out to me.

I begin to push through my clothes, searching for something that I want to wear. I am about to give up and just put on my regular hunting clothes, when my hand brushes something hard. I pull out the piece of clothing, and gasp a little.

It's a carefully tailored uniform. It's wrapped in plastic, I suppose to protect the clothing. I stand back and take in each detail. Layers of body armor. Masked weapons in the belt, and the boots that hang behind the outfit. It's quite tattered, though. A small pocket on the shoulder of the uniform has been torn in two, and there is a slight dent in the center of the outfit. But it's beautiful.

"Mom! Hey, look what I found!" I call down to her, wanting to show her this suit. It'd suit me quite well for hunting.

Just moments later, my door cracks open and my mother peeks in. Her bright smile fades as she sees what I am holding.

"Mom, what's wrong?" I ask her, sitting down and carefully placing the outfit next to me.

My mother comes in and carefully closes the door behind her. "Prim… remember how I told you that I was the Mockingjay, the symbol of the rebellion?" she asks me slowly, her hands shaking.

I nod, confused.

"Well," she continues, "That was my costume. Cinna designed it for me. I called it the Mockingjay Suit. I wore it while filming propos for the rebellion, and I was even shot while wearing it. And President Coin was killed while I wore that."

My eyes widen. "Oh, I had no idea. Sorry, I'll put it away." I begin scrambling to gather the boots and outfit together, when my mother puts up her hand.

"No, Primrose. It's about time you knew anyways. And I can't hide from my past forever, can I?" She smiles a little at me, and gestures to the outfit. "Go on, try it on."

My mouth gapes open a little. Try on the legendary Mockingjay suit? I begin to shake my head, to say no, but my mother insists. "Come on, Prim. Might as well."

I relent and go to the bathroom to change. First, I pull on the suit. I stick my legs through the black armor-reinforced pants, sliding them on. Next comes the top, which is a bit more of a struggle to get my head through. But I manage to do it. I can feel the layers of armor protecting my body.

And lastly, the boots. I tug them on over my thick, woolen socks and lace them up tightly, pulling the laces once more. Then I walk back to my room, smiling a little as I feel the flexibility of the suit as I move. It seems to almost move with me.

My mother's eyes water with unshed tears as I walk into the room. She seems to be lost in her memories as she gets up and fiercely hugs me.

"You're my little warrior," she whispers in my ear.

"Can I show Dad?" I say with a broad grin on my face.

My mother nods slightly.

"And can I _please _go hunting afterwards? I promise I'll be back soon!" I plead with her, my eyes big and puppy-like.

She sighs. "Fine. But this is the one time you're wearing the suit, okay?" She steps back and looks at me. My long dark hair flows down my shoulders and my blue eyes sparkle.

"Thanks, mom." I kiss her cheek once before grabbing my slender, wooden bow and quiver of arrows. I hesitate for a moment and then strap the Mockingjay pin next to my heart. I smirk. I must really look like the Mockingjay now.

I clamber down the stairs, my quiver slung carelessly over my shoulder. My beautiful bow is clamped tightly in my fist.

My father is in the kitchen, preparing what must be breakfast. He turns, probably to tell me to be careful, and sucks in a breath when he sees me. I can't really blame him.

I stand in silence as he looks at me, his eyes glazed over.

Finally, he breaks the silence. "You look just like your mother did," he chokes out.

I nod awkwardly. "Well, I'm going to the woods. See you for lunch." I dart out before he can say anything else.

Outside, I run like the wind, my bow carried alongside of me. When I reach the gate, I unlatch it and carefully step into the forest. I shut the gate and begin to take my usual path through the thick brush.

A peaceful smile graces my face as I look around. Mockingjays fly high in the treetops, and deer run gracefully on the forest floor. A small rabbit hops in a bush right near me, and I can't bring myself to shoot it.

I continue down the footpath until I reach the clearing, where I sit down on the large rock that overlooks the huge woods. I sigh and put my chin on my knees, watching the tall grass dance with the wind.

I hear a '_snap!_' of a twig breaking and my head whips around, my bow in my hands, arrow already positioned in between my fingers.

I slowly get up, my bow and arrow held tightly in front of me. My eyes survey the area in front of me, searching for whatever - or whoever, is there.

And then something sharp is pressing into my back and I squeeze my eye shut.

"Who are you?" I croak, my voice sounding hoarse. My bow is still clasped tightly in my hands, my arrow still woven through my fingers. As soon as their guard is let down, I'll turn around and shoot.

"Relax, Mellark. It's just me."

I roll my eyes, annoyed. I know who that voice belongs to.

I spin on the heel of my boot, turning to face my attacker. "Shut up, Hawthorne! You shouldn't do that!"

Phox sits on my rock, a silvery bow of his own held in front of him protectively. He smirks and pushes the hair out of his eyes.

"Maybe you should watch your back."

"And maybe you should stop sneaking up on me," I snap back at him.

He raises an eyebrow and looks me up and down. "Looking good, Mellark. The Mockingjay pin adds a nice touch."

"Shut up!" I explode at him. "Can you please just leave me alone? If you've come here to mock me, you might as well leave!" I glare at him, my eyes full of fire and rage.

He stands up and looks at me. I can't help but realize how much taller than me he is.

"I came to hunt, Mellark. You're in my way."

"Then I'll be happy to get out of it," I growl at him. I tighten my hold on my bow and clench my arrow in my fist, and then begin to stalk away.

"Hold on, Mellark! I was kidding!" He catches me by the crook of my elbow, and I twist away from him, arrow nestled on the string of my bow.

"It didn't sound too joking," I shoot back at him angrily. Arrogance will get him nowhere!

"Look, I'm sorry, Mellark," Phox laughs. I shoot him an angry look and he stops. "But I need a hunting partner, and you seemed decent."

"Hmm…. No," I say sarcastically.

"Oh, c'mon Prim. Might as well," he replies seriously. "Not like you'll do any better without me."

I'm about to begin arguing with him again, but think better of it. "Fine," I agree stoically. "I'll hunt with you."

"Good!" he says satisfactorily, as though he expected me to agree in the end anyways. I resist the urge to kick him and instead mask my emotions with a blank face.

"Let's go," I grumble, kicking dirt up behind me with my boots. I break into a jog and hold my bow next to me. He easily matches my pace and keeps behind me, on the lookout.

We walk in stony silence for awhile until I notice a soft rustling in a bush. I turn my head slowly and notice a large, bushy-tailed squirrel, obliviously holding an acorn.

I signal to Phox and slink over silently until I'm in range of getting a perfect shot.

I aim my arrow to hit right in between the squirrel's eyes and pull the arrow a little further back on the string. The squirrel still sits innocently on the forest floor, not noticing me or Phox.

I knit my eyebrows together in concentration and then release my arrow. It hits the squirrel directly in between its eyes, and the thing goes down without a sound. Grinning victoriously, I scoop up the kill and insert it in a pocket on my belt. I turn back to Phox, whose eyes are widening in fear.

"What's wrong?" I ask immediately as I raise my bow again.

"Prim, get out of the way!" Phox shouts at me, taking an arrow from his quiver. I turn to see what he means, but then something hits me square in the chest and I fall to the ground, my face slamming into the dirt.

"Ow," I groan, rubbing my eye. I am about to sit up, but the sight of a wild dog standing above me keeps me on the ground.

"Shoot," I mutter under my breath. I swear quietly and lay still, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my knee.

And then there's a yelp and the sound of something hitting flesh and the dog is gone. I sit up dazedly and swipe at my eyes, trying to clear my blurry vision.

"Prim!" Phox yells, kneeling down next to where I sit. "Are you all right?" he asks frantically, dropping his bow next to him.

"Fine," I mumble, looking down. My mother's Mockingjay Suit is covered in dirt, but I seem okay, other than that slight pain in my knee.

"It hit your chest really hard," Phox says softly.

I nod. "But I have reinforced armor over my chest, so I'm fine."

He looks surprised. "Why?"

I shrug. "I felt like trying on my mother's Mockingjay outfit today. Anyways, can we go? I want to go home now."

"Sure," Phox says, furrowing his eyebrows. He looks a little confused and worried.

"I'm fine," I say again, picking up my bow and making sure that no arrows are missing from my sheath.

"Okay," Phox replies, sounding unsure. He helps me stand up, but my knee buckles out from underneath me and I trip. Phox catches me.

"Whoa there," he says, holding me steady. "You must've hurt your leg."

"Whatever," I say angrily. I hate feeling weak!

I begin to hobble away, trying to will the pain in my knee away, but Phox of course won't let me go alone.

"I'll help you back," he says worriedly. "I can't let you get hurt again."

"I'm FINE," I snap at him.

"No, you're not!" he replies, fed up with my attitude.

I'm going to start trying to run from him when he scoops me up in his arms and throws me over his back and begins carrying me on his broad shoulders.

I start hitting him and yelling. "PUT ME DOWN! I'm not weak, I can walk!"

"Nope," he says simply, and keeps walking. He pulls the bow out of my hands and carries it with his. Eventually, I stop trying to struggle and just let him carry me in silence.

We reach the edge of the woods quickly and before I know it, we're standing in front of my home. Phox knocks on the door once and Boggs opens it.

"Prim, what happened?" he asks concernedly. I don't reply but rather stare off into space.

"Mom! Dad! Prim's hurt!" Boggs yells loudly. I silently curse him.

At the sound of that, my mother and father come rushing into the front entrance. "Primrose Mellark! You should have been more careful in the woods, you're so clumsy!" My mother reprimands me, guiding Phox upstairs into my bedroom, where he gently sets me down on my bed.

My father has the first-aid kit, and he wraps a gauze bandage around me knee as Phox tells him what happened. My consciousness is drifting away and I can hear my parents speaking in the distance, thanking Phox and then leaving the room, with Phox and me still in it.

Phox puts my bow down and places my quiver next to it. He comes next to the bed where I lay half-asleep and softly unclasps my Mockingjay pin from my suit. He smoothes the hair out of my face and taps my nose playfully. "I gotta go, Mellark. Sweet dreams."

I think he grabs my hand and squeezes, and then lets go, but I really don't know because the next moment is when I lose consciousness.

**Hi everyone! Once again, thanks for all the lovely reviews :)**

**Sorry I hadn't updated in awhile! Exams are almost finished now, and I'll have way more time to write!**


	6. The Soup Incident, Chapter 6

A Blossoming Primrose: Katniss's Daughter

Chapter 6

My eyes slide open and the first thing I can think of is the nonexistent pain in my knee.

Did I really hurt my leg yesterday in the woods, or was it just a dream?

I shrug. It was most likely a dream. Plus, in that dream, I was wearing my mother's Mockingjay suit, which I doubt she'd ever even let me touch. And now, I'm wearing an old pair of pajamas.

I sit up in bed and my eyes fall to my bedside table. On it sits a crisp note, folded cleanly in half. 'Prim' is written on it in my brother's messy handwriting.

I tentatively take it and unfold it, my eyes skimming the page.

'_Dear Prim,_

_Mother, father and I decided to visit the bakery today. You know, the newer one in town? Our parents said they needed a relief from all of the stress that's recently been put atop their shoulders, so we're going to go eat fresh bread. I didn't want to wake you, so instead I write this letter. I hope you feel better; Mom gave you some of her strongest medicine to stop the pain, but she doesn't want you back in the woods for a few days. She changed you into your pajamas, and took the Mockingjay suit._

_Anyways, Mom asked Phox to come over at about ten-thirty to check up on you, hopefully feed you a bit of soup. So don't be surprised when you hear a knock on the door._

_We'll be home at about one-thirty, I think Dad said we're going over to a parent-teacher conference at school later to discuss our grades. (By the way, school's out for a few days.)_

_Love you, stay safe!_

_Boggs_

I groan as I finish my brother's note. I slam it back onto the bedside table. So it wasn't a dream.

And Phox'll be over here at ten-thirty.

I look at the clock and curse. It's ten-twenty! Phox will be here in ten minutes!

I literally jump out of bed and look around frantically. I grab a brush and run it through my tangled hair, hoping that I look decent. I brush my teeth quickly and then scour my closet for something appropriate to wear.

I pull out a simple maroon colored sweater and dark brown jodhpurs that were my mother's when she was younger. I slip into the clothes and flop down onto my bed, relieved that I look at best, presentable.

I hear loud knocks on the door and stifle a sigh. Hawthorne's here.

'Yay,' I think sarcastically. 'This'll be fun.'

I pad down the stairs in my cotton socks, my feet slipping a bit on the wooden stairs.

Rolling my eyes, I pull open the door to see Phox leaning against the doorway, his tall lanky frame towering over my shorter one. He smirks and I snort under my breath. His eyes travel up and down the length of my body, and I glare at the floor, trying to hide the crimson color that's surely flooding in my cheeks.

"Hello, Mellark. You know, you really shouldn't be opening the door like that when you don't know who's there. What if it was a kidnapper coming to get you?"

Argh! He's so frustrating! I mask my annoyed demeanor with a stoical expression. "I'm sure that I'd be able to handle myself, Hawthorne. No need to be so concerned," I reply coolly, stepping aside to let him in.

He ducks through the doorway and looks around. I roll my eyes again and clear my throat, bringing Phox's attention back to me.

"So, my brother left a note saying you came here to give me soup and check up on me."

Phox's playful expression turns serious, and a look of concern spreads across his face. "Right," he replies quickly. "So, how're you feeling?"

"Better," I say honestly. "My knee doesn't hurt at all, I think it's because of the painkillers that my mother gave me."

Phox nods. "Well, at least you're feeling better," he says. He glances around the room and his eyes fall on the stove in the kitchen. "Your father said that he's already made some soup and he's left it on the table, and all I need to do is serve it to you. Sounds easy enough, I guess." He gestures over to the kitchen, and we walk over together.

He goes over to the stove while I take a seat on one of the rickety chairs in the kitchen. I place my hands on the small wooden table in front of me and sit stiffly, watching Phox. He's busy finding silverware and a bowl for me, so I take this time to study him thoroughly.

His dark brown, almost black hair is disheveled in a rather nice-looking way. He's wearing a faded olive-green long-sleeved shirt and brown pants. His boots are shiny and clean.

He's lanky and tall, but I can't help but notice the ripple of muscles as he moves around. Although slim, he's still very muscled and his shirt hugs his torso in a very generous way. I can see the outline of his body perfectly.

I wonder if, should I stand underneath him, I'd fit right underneath his chin.

'Stop it!' I scold myself internally. 'This is _Phox Hawthorne_ we're talking about. A no-good, very bad person!'

'But what about when he saved you from those wild dogs in the woods the other day?' Another voice inside of my head reminds me. 'He seemed so gentle and caring towards you, you can't overlook that.'

'I could have taken care of myself!' The first voice argues.

The two voices in my head are having a go when Phox turns around, soup sloshing out of a large bowl.

"Soup's ready!" he says cheerfully, and I bite my lip as he sets down the bowl of soup and silverware in front of me.

"Thanks," I respond gratefully, gingerly taking my spoon and dipping it into the soup.

Phox plops down into the seat opposite mine as I take my first sip of soup. The flavor is warm and comforting, and seems familiar. It brings a small smile to my face.

"How d'ya like it?" Phox asks me conversationally.

I nod. "It's good." As if to prove my point, I take another large gulp.

Phox laughs, not unkindly. "Here, you've got a bit of rice from the soup on your face," he says, leaning over. His finger touches the corner of my mouth and gently brushes the small grain of rice away.

I nearly bury my face into my soup, trying to hide my embarrassment. I scoop spoonful after spoonful into my mouth as quickly as I can.

"All finished!" I say with false happiness as I get up to clear my plate.

Phox stands up too and takes my empty bowl from me. "Don't worry, I've got it. Wouldn't wanna put any strain on that leg of yours," he says knowingly.

I look at him quizzically, wondering if he's making a joke, but he appears to be completely serious. I shrug and sit down, intertwining my fingers together and placing my hands in my lap.

"Thanks," I say quietly.

Phox turns to me and grins. "That's what friends are for, right?"

I'm taken aback. Friends? Well, I guess you could consider us friends now, especially after he "saved me" in the woods.

"Right," I respond a bit uncertainly.

Phox finishes putting away my dishes and wipes his hands on his pants. "All righty then," he remarks.

I stand up rather awkwardly and stick my hands into the pockets of my jodhpurs. "Well, thanks for everything," I whisper.

Phox walks closer and holds out his arms. "No problem, Prim."

It takes me a moment to comprehend the fact that he wants a hug, so I accept his hug warily.

But holy Panem, is it a nice hug. Like I had wondered before, I actually do come up right beneath his chin, so we fit together like two puzzle pieces.

I can feel his warm body pressed against me, holding me tightly. My arms are wrapped around his neck, and I'm almost on my tiptoes trying to match his height.

I can feel the outline of all of his hard muscles through his shirt, and the faint beating of his heart. I don't ever want to let go. I want to absorb this for hours, to smell the scent of his hair and feel his hot breath on my shoulder. I don't want to let go.

Finally, he pulls back, breaking the hug. His hand brushes against my hair and sends a shiver down my spine.

"It was nice seeing you again, Prim," he murmurs, and I nod enthusiastically.

"Hopefully I'll see you again soon," he continues huskily. A knot binds itself in my stomach and refuses to let go, so much that it hurts.

"Yeah, thanks for the soup," I croak, trying to ignore the growing pain in my stomach.

"Prim… are you okay?" Phox asks, concern shining in the gray Seam eyes that he inherited from his father. The bits of honey-brown in them flicker, like a light turning on and off.

"I…. I think so," I reply hesitantly. The pain in my stomach is growing stronger and stronger by the second.

"Oh, no," he mutters, and grabs my arm, pulling me to the bathroom right next to the kitchen.

And it's a good thing he did, because the next thing I know, I'm standing over the toilet, the contents of my stomach emptying itself.

Phox holds my long hair back for me, patting and rubbing my back soothingly. One of his hands pulls my hair back gently, while the other rests atop my shoulder, comforting me.

Finally, after I think I'm done retching, I sink to my knees and bury my face in my hands. My forehead is sweaty and my hair clings to my face.

"I'm so sorry for troubling you like this," I whisper brokenly. Phox must think I'm like a disgusting animal.

Softly, Phox removes my hands from my face and crouches down, looking me in the eyes. "Hey. It's okay. I don't mind. Besides, I'm glad I can help you. And what would you have done if I weren't here?" He gives me a crooked grin, which I return weakly.

"Let's get you to bed," he suggests quietly. Slinging my arm around his shoulder, he leads me up to my room.

He guides me over to my bed, where I slowly sit down and ease myself into lying down. He pulls up a small stool next to me and tucks me into bed. I snuggle up into my pillow and embrace the warmth that my sweater and blankets provide.

"Prim, do you want me to stay until your parents get home?" Phox asks me, gently pushing a stray piece of hair to the side of my head.

"Yes, please Phox." My tone takes on a pleading note.

"Shh, I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here," Phox soothes me.

I can feel myself growing sleepier and sleepier by the moment. I smile and look up at Phox, reaching my hand out to squeeze his.

"Thank you, Phox." I smile at him, this time a genuine smile. He returns it with an additional squeeze of my hand.

"I'm glad I'm here, Prim. I'm glad I'm here."

And it was most likely my imagination, but I think he may have kissed my cheek right before I dozed off.

**Author's Note:**

**Phox to the rescue! It seems like he's always saving the day, hmm?**

**Don't worry, Prim won't be the damsel in distress for too much longer. We've just gotta wait for her to get better.**

**I'm hoping the next chapter will be up in the next couple of days, seeing as I don't have school or anything to do.**

**A billion thanks to everyone who takes the time to review, I love you guys so much! :) And the reviews make me so, so happy!**


	7. The Hunting Trip, Chapter 7

A Blossoming Primrose: Katniss's Daughter

Chapter 7

"Pri-im!" I can hear someone chanting my name.

"Prim!"

I snuggle into my pillow in response. I don't want to wake up yet.

"Primrose Mellark!"

I shoot up in bed, hating the sound of my full name. Whenever it's used, it usually means I'm in trouble.

"What?" I mutter grumpily, folding my arms across my chest.

My mother hovers over my bed, an antagonized expression on her face. "Prim, you've been in bed for hours. When I got here, Phox Hawthorne was in the corner, practically falling asleep!" Her tone takes on an accusing note, and I roll my eyes. "I sent the poor boy home for the night."

"Mom, didn't he explain that yesterday, he served me soup, I threw up, and then he helped me to bed?" Now it's my turn to sound annoyed.

My mother relaxes slightly. "Oh. Well, if that's all. Anyways, time for breakfast. Is your stomach feeling better?"

I nod. "Loads better. Can I go hunting today?" I ask her hopefully.

My mother shakes her head. "No. First you hurt your knee, then you get sick. Not today, Primrose."

I sigh exasperatedly. "Please, Mom? I feel loads better. Plus, Phox'll come with me."

My mother looks at me questioningly for a moment. Then she sighs. "Fine. But you know that it's just because I want someone to watch out for you. To protect you, I guess."

"Mom!" I say in protest. "When you were younger, you and Gale Hawthorne hunted in the woods all the time. Did you end up marrying him? No! So why do you have to be that way around me and Phox? We're just friends." I try out the word 'friend' for the first time. I guess you could call me and Phox friends. He saved me from wild dogs and helped me when I was sick. I shrug a little.

My mother ponders this for a moment before sighing. "Primrose, please don't be difficult. I'll have you know that Gale and I -" She falters for a moment as I raise an eyebrow suggestively.

"You and Mr. Hawthorne _what, _Mom?" I tease her smugly. Although I know that my mother and Mr. Hawthorne had explored the possibility of a relationship, in the end, my mom had chosen Peeta, my dad.

"Oh, go get changed, you," she mumbles angrily as she stomps out of the room. I giggle a little, knowing I've embarrassed her with the talk of hers and Gale's past.

Now that I've gotten the green light to go hunting (well, Mom never officially said yes, but since she sort of gave up, I'm taking it as a positive answer), I'm filled with glee. The woods! Oh, how I've missed its pine scent and the rabbits and squirrels that hop around, scrounging for food.

I slip on some maroon-colored trousers and pull on a gray long-sleeved shirt. I clad my feet in my hunting boots and shrug on my grandfather's hunting jacket, which I adore. Even though it's tattered and faded, it reminds me of home. Whenever a new hole appears in its leather, my mother always patches it up.

I pull my dark hair into a bun and tug a cap onto my head. It shrouds my eyes from the bright sunlight that shines through the mesh of trees.

Pinning the small Mockingjay onto my shirt and tucking my jacket over it, I grab my bow and sling my sheath of arrows over my shoulder.

"Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad! Bye, Boggs!" I call cheerfully as I exit the house, pulling the door shut firmly behind me. As I step over the threshold, I hear my father mutter, "Well, someone's feeling exuberant today, aren't they?"

I simply roll my eyes and ignore him as I break into a sprint towards the Seam area, where Gale, his wife Aline, and Phox all currently reside.

I stop in front of a tall, dull house that's on an odd tilt. It's the only house in the area with lights on, so I assume that it must be where the Hawthornes are staying.

Feeling a little awkward, I walk up the creaky wooden stairs, clutching my bow in one hand while precariously holding the railing. I stand in front of the worn-down door warily before rapping my knuckles sharply on the wood three times.

I hear Aline yell "Phox, get the door!" and Phox grumble something under his breath before the door swings open. With a start, Phox jumps a little at the sight of me. He's wearing a hunter-green t-shirt with brown pants and his hair is mussed adorably, I must admit.

"Er, hi?" My greeting comes out sounding more like a question, and I internally curse my stupidity. I straighten up. "Hi, Phox. My Mom gave me permission to go hunting today, but she said I could only go if you came with me. D'ya wanna go?" I give him my most winning smile and hope it's enough to convince him.

He shrugs. "Sure, why not? Lemme just go change into my boots and grab my bow and arrows. In the meantime, just come on in."

"Thanks," I mumble, stepping in and looking around. It's shabby but quaint, rather cute actually.

"Phox, who's our visitor?" Aline calls as she steps into the main foyer. Her eyes widen as she sees me. "Oh, Prim! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Oh, er, thanks," I reply, shuffling my feet and staring at the ground. "Phox and I are gonna go hunting for a bit." I jerk my finger towards the door.

"Oh, all right. Just be careful," she warns before returning to what I'm guessing is the kitchen.

I stand in the foyer for a few more minutes, twiddling my fingers and looking around before Phox emerges. He's now got on a brown jacket and boots, and he's got his quiver in one hand and silver bow in another.

"All ready," he says to me. He looks behind his shoulder and yells, "Bye Mom, bye Dad! Be home soon!"

We walk out immediately and start jogging towards the woods. Phox unlatches the gate and ushers me through. I thank him and we walk to the clearing where my mother and Gale used to meet up.

When we arrive, the tall grasses are yellowed and dying. Leaves clutter the ground, vibrant splashes of red, orange, and yellow popping out all over. I sit down atop the large rock overlooking the rest of the woods and hug my knees to my chest.

Phox sits down next to me, propping himself up with his hands. I notice that his fingers are long and slender, perfect for pulling back the string of a bow.

"So." I'm the first one to break the silence. "Isn't it a little ironic that your Dad and my Mom used to meet up here when they were younger, and now both of their kids are too?"

Phox lets out a little laugh that sounds more like a bark. "Yeah, I guess so."

Another silence settles between us before I once again interrupt it. "Hey, Phox? Thanks for yesterday."

He grins down at me. "No problem. I was glad to help. That's what friends are for, right?"

"Right. That's what friends are for," I repeat a little more uncertainly.

I then point out a thick bushel with a few ripe berries still hanging off of it. We pop them into our mouths and then start hunting.

We work as a team. Watching each other's backs, backing the other up. And I must say, we made a pretty good team.

At the end of the day, Phox and I go home loaded with kills. I've got squirrels and rabbits hanging off of the game pouch I brought with me. So does Phox. We even collected a few strawberries for dessert tonight.

Overall, it's been a pretty great day. I guess you could officially call Phox and I friends now. We joked around, talked, and hunted.

When the sky begins to dim and the sun starts to set, we decide to return home. Phox walks me back to my house in silence. We traipse through the Meadow and then reach the Victor's Village, where I turn to leave, but Phox stops me.

"Hey, Prim? I, uh, just wanted to ask you something," Phox blurts out nervously.

I raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Um, well… I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go to the bakery for lunch tomorrow? Y'know, as a friend's thing." I almost snicker at the panicked look on his face.

My eyes twinkle. "Sure! Sounds fun."

Phox breaks into a wide smile. "Great. Uh, I'll pick you up tomorrow, at, say, twelve-ish?" He runs a hand through his hair.

"All right. See you tomorrow," I reply happily. I have to keep from skipping over to my house. I've got a date with Phox! But we're only friends.

_Just friends,_ I tell myself. And I'm happy that way. I think.

I tell my parents and my mother seems happy, but a bit uneasy.

"I'm sure you kids'll have fun," she says, going back into the living room to knit.

That night, I can't help but get excited over my lunch plans tomorrow. I know it's stupid, since we're just friends, but I can't help the butterflies that are in my stomach.

I fall asleep contentedly, excited about the upcoming day.

**Author's Note:**

**Holy Panem! Thank you SO SO SO SO much to everyone who's reviewed! It's made me so happy! If we could get to 25, I'd be absolutely elated :D**

**Next chapter'll be up soon!**


End file.
